Dragonslayer's Daughter
by Sheila Waters
Summary: Her name is Erin - her quest to find Bowen; the reason? Read and find out!


**DRAGONSLAYER'S DAUGHTER**

The white horse trotted gently into the compound and its rider looked about her. She sat tall in her saddle; wrapped warmly against the late December chills despite the bright sunlight that fell onto her hooded head. Her robes were as black as pitch; heavy woollen garments and a hooded cloak that concealed equally dark hair. The place thronged with life; this wooden fortress that had once been the seat of King Freyne's power now echoed to the sounds of honest toil by free men; men who had been led to that dearly bought freedom by one man.   
It was this man that the young woman sought; yet she'd never met him and had only a vague description, his name and reputation to aid her quest. Calling out to a goat-herd who passed nonchalantly past her horse, she succeeded in halting him.   
"Do you know a man named Bowen?"   
"Bowen?" and the man grinned up at her. "Aye, lady," for her garments alone marked her out as a noblewoman to his eyes, "we all know Bowen. He's over there," and he gestured back the way he'd come.   
"Thank you; blessed be," she said, conferring the pagan blessing upon the surprised man who immediately hurried away as if she'd cursed him.   
Her first sight of Bowen only confirmed all she'd ever heard about him. He was tall; had flowing, light auburn hair and a broad back. Yet this knight of the Old Code was playing with a small child; tossing it in the air and easily catching it again in strong hands. The toddler squealed with delight at each aerial exercise, drawing from Bowen equally hearty laughs. Then he set the child on its feet; stooped down a few paces away and beckoned. It tottered forward into obviously loving arms to be scooped up and swung around. The turn brought him to face her.   
Hitching the child into his arms, he walked slowly towards the horse and looked up at the rider. "Are you lost?" he asked her.   
The timbre of his voice sent a cold chill down her back and something in her stomach pitched over. Placing a hand to her belly, she saw the reaction on Bowen's face and smiled. "It's been a long journey," she told him, "I need to rest."   
"You're with child," he observed.   
"Of a certainty," and she flung back the edge of her cloak, exposing the swell better.   
"Is it safe to ride so near your time?"   
"Not that near; this is a spring babe."   
"I think not," he argued.   
"Oh but yes. This one was conceived at the Great Festival - as I was."   
"The Great Festival?" he queried with a frown. "You still hold to that pagan rite?"   
"You are familiar with it?"   
"I was - once," and his eyes lowered. Looking back up, he said: "Where is your husband?"   
"Does a woman need one?" she countered boldly.   
"It is customary."   
"For a Christian perhaps." She moved painfully in the saddle. "Will you help me to dismount?"   
Setting the child down, Bowen raised his hands. The young woman threw her leg over the pommel and slid - more gracefully than he'd have thought possible - into his arms; her hood falling back with the last jolt. His eyes widened as he found himself staring into the most vivid blue eyes he'd ever encountered. Then he realised that his hands were still at her thickened waist and he coughed, embarrassed by her without understanding why.   
"Will you come and take refreshment?" he offered, hastily letting her go and reaching down to pick up the child who sat on the ground playing with stones.   
"Thank you. I am Erin," she introduced herself.   
"Bowen. This is my daughter: Gwyneth."   
"A daughter? You have been blessed by the Goddess," and she smiled.   
"Please," he begged, "none of your pagan mummery here."   
"As you wish," and she led her horse, following behind the man; a secret smile on her face. 

********** 

Bowen took Erin to the kitchen on the first level of the main lodge. He put Gwyneth down on the floor and offered a simple meal to the young woman. Erin removed her cloak; raven black hair cascaded down her back like a horse's mane, held in check by simple gold circlet around her forehead. Bowen's memory jerked him like a fish on a line and he couldn't help but stare.   
"You are a Druid, aren't you?"   
"You do remember," sounding pleased.   
"Yes; I have attended some of the Great Festivals you mentioned; three in total."   
"Three is a magic number. As is twenty-one," and she impaled him with her eyes.   
Bowen flinched. Twenty-one; what did that mean? He'd been married at that age. But before then... twenty-one years ago... "Rowena," he conjured up, gazing with disbelief at Erin.   
"So you also remember youth's first flush." It was spoken in a seductive tone. "Nature playing you like dice. The fires; the music; dancing - and loving."   
Bowen blushed but was saved from any further verbal probing by the appearance of Kara. Moistening dry lips, he went towards his wife. "Kara, this is Erin; she's ridden a long way."   
"In that condition?" Kara pointed. "Risky," she addressed the girl.   
"Forgive the intrusion, madam," bowing her head in respect, "I came seeking your husband." She smiled at Bowen who viewed her with surprise. "I have a message to give."   
"Message?" he queried. "You didn't say you sought me." He looked pleadingly at Kara whose eyes had narrowed at Erin.   
"Is the child yours?" Erin asked Kara.   
"Yes," came the defiant answer.   
"She's beautiful. Life begets the giver of life; as I told Bowen: you are blessed."   
"So are you I see."   
"Oh this," as she stroked her belly. "Necessary."   
"Necessary?" Kara repeated; it had seemed an odd thing to say.   
"Part of who I am dictated that I bear a child."   
Kara was puzzled, but Bowen had a hint as to what Erin meant.   
"Where's the father?" Kara asked sharply.   
"Father's are of no consequence - as long as they are acquainted with the fact, it is enough." She spoke directly at Bowen though, not Kara. "Would you think it impertinent of me, madam if I begged time alone with your husband to finish what I came here to do?"   
Scowling, Kara gave a silent answer; snatched up Gwyneth and stormed out of the kitchen. Bowen stared at her retreating back then glowered at Erin.   
"That statement bore a double edge!" he snapped, leaning over her.   
"Did it?" Erin said sweetly. "Maybe the guilt on your face twisted its meaning."   
"Guilt? What guilt?" as he snapped upright again.   
"Rowena," she reminded him.   
"That was a long time ago," and he began to pace the boards.   
"She asks to see you," Erin imparted, rising slowly to her feet.   
"Why? She never thought about me before now."   
"She's sick."   
"Dying?"   
"Perhaps. Will you come?"   
"Just tell me why?" he insisted.   
"To set matters right between the two of you," Erin answered simply. "Had she been able, she would have come herself."   
"Wait for me here, I need to speak to my wife."   
Erin nodded and sat back down as Bowen left. 

********** 

Just as he feared, Kara awaited Bowen up in their chamber. The winter sun was setting and a gloom that was a little more than the departing daylight, hung over the room. He closed the oak door and approached the hearth where the fireglow shone on Kara's face as she stood staring into the flames.   
"Who is she, Bowen?" Kara said straight away, lifting her own head of flame.   
"A messenger from someone I once knew."   
"Who?"   
"Her name is Rowena; it seems she's sick and has asked to see me."   
"And this - messenger; this girl so great with child that she seeks you?!"   
"I've just told you."   
"She carries a boy, Bowen."   
"Really? What of it?"   
"I couldn't," landing a glance laced with suspicion upon her husband.   
Suddenly, he caught her meaning. "You think that's my child in her belly?! I never saw her before today and it's wrong of you to even think such a thing of me. She's nothing to do with me!"   
"But you will go with her to meet this other woman."   
"Do you doubt my honour? Or are you so unsure of your own hold on me? My beloved - you are all that I need; why would I seek solace in another woman's bed when I am always welcome in yours?" and before she could answer, he kissed her lovingly.   
"You're right," she said when he'd released her. "If I was your equal - "   
" - not that old chestnut again!" he mocked with a smile. "Would I have wed you unless I loved you? How many times must I repeat this? I do love you; maybe I always have."   
"Always?"   
"Yes. From the moment you swallowed your hurt and fear to help dress my wound, I felt a certain admiration for you."   
"I admired your spirit at the moment you came to realise how Einon had betrayed you. He plundered you as surely as he had me - ruthlessly."   
Catching Kara by the shoulders, Bowen confessed: "Rowena and I haven't met for more than twenty years; I was still a youth then. "She was my first lover; the one to whom I lost my own innocence; I was sixteen."   
"Did you take hers?"   
"She gave it to me," he said softly.   
"So she was a maiden."   
"Yes," he whispered.   
"She has the carriage of nobility too, this - messenger."   
Bowen pursed his lips. "Old nobility, yes. There's the look of the Celts about her but I'd guess it's not pure blood."   
"She hasn't a husband then?"   
"Seemingly not. But it is part of the Old Religion. She's a Druid; a priestess and there is a custom that a priestess lie with a youth for one night and conceive a child who is believed to be half-god."   
"Can such a thing be guaranteed?"   
"It happens. Some even claimed that Arthur was part of such a ceremony with Morgana."   
"The witch?"   
"The same."   
"I don't like this, Bowen; all this paganism frightens me."   
"Draco was part of it and you learned not to be afraid of him."   
"Yes... but...that was different."   
"Because he was a dragon?" Bowen grinned sympathetically and kissed her again. "I have to honour the request of a dying woman; but would rather do it with your blessing."   
"Then take it; but, Bowen."   
"Yes?"   
"Bring back the truth and share it with me."   
"Madam, you have my word on it," and he bowed as if she were royalty. 

********** 

Erin sat waiting patiently for Bowen to return. When he did, he was dressed for travel in leather surcoat and thick cloak - he also carried his sword. She stood carefully as he walked up to her.   
"I'm ready," he said, "are you rested enough?"   
"I'm well enough."   
"How far do we travel?"   
"At my reduced speed it will take us an hour to reach our destination."   
"I trust you can navigate in this darkness?"   
"I can pick my way through a forest at midnight," Erin boasted.   
"Then lead on." 

********** 

At a steady canter it did indeed take a good hour before Erin pointed out a large building on the horizon. As they neared it, Bowen became aware of its structure as being of a similar design to the fortress - wood rather than stone, though it was only a quarter of the size.   
"I don't recall having been here before," Bowen said to Erin.   
"Good, then there will be no ghosts to haunt you."   
"Ghosts? What ghosts?"   
"Be patient, Bowen, you ask too many questions."   
They slowed the horses to a gentle trot for the last few yards across open countryside. Clattering across a wooden bridge spanning a dry moat and through a gateway cut into high, defensive banks, Bowen was reminded of some ancient hill forts he'd seen; even the pallisade on top of the circular banks smacked of Celtic rather than Saxon construction. It was a fitting place for Rowena to live.   
However, inside the stockade, the area was deserted; surely these two women didn't live here alone? A prickling at the back of his neck acted as a warning to Bowen; something wasn't quite right. Weaving amongst a small group of thatched huts, he kept a wary eye open all around; a motion not missed by Erin.   
"You need not fear ambush. Everyone has gone to their beds; you are safe."   
"I never feel safe on strange ground."   
"Then trust me when I tell you that you are so."   
"If you play me false, I swear you will regret it."   
She smiled. "I believe you. We can walk from here. Will you help me down?"   
Dismounting, he again lent his hands to assist her to the ground. She took one of those hands in her own and he flinched at the contact.   
Erin laughed. "You really are a virtuous man! I am no threat to your honour, Sir Knight."   
"My wife thought you already had been."   
Her head whipped around; her hair flew out to join the darkness of the night. "She thought this child was yours?!" she said incredulously, then laughed again; a clear, tinkling tone. "Won't she be surprised when she learns the truth!"   
"What truth?"   
"Patience, Sir Knight," and she tugged on his hand, pulling him towards a Saxon-style great hall of wood and thatch. 

********** 

It was gloomy inside; the only light coming from a central hearth in which a fire burned brightly. At the far end of the oblong building stretched a tapestry screen which Erin approached with a waddle in her walk. She disappeared behind it a moment then came back for Bowen.   
Holding out her hand, she beckoned him forward. "She'll see you now; don't tire her too much. I'll bring refreshments."   
Unsure of what to expect, Bowen's feet faltered; but he forced them forward. Beyond the screen, he saw a narrow bed and an emaciated body lying upon it, still recognisable as a woman, but only just. She saw him then and a warm smile radiated from sunken cheeks.   
"Bowen; I'd have known you anywhere. Come, sit by me."   
"Rowena?" he whispered. "I cannot say the same of you. What happened?" and he took a place on the edge of her bed.   
"A consuming sickness, Bowen. I hate that you see me this way but I had to send for you."   
"Why now? It's more than twenty years."   
"Nigh on twenty-two, Bowen," she calculated.   
"You disappeared; I never knew why. Is this where I learn?"   
"Did you ever try and find me?" she asked with an icy edge to a cracked voice.   
"Yes; but Freyne made it nigh on impossible, you know how vindictive he could be. But for Aislinn - "   
" - ah yes; the queen," she sneered. "Your name was once linked to hers."   
Bowen bristled. "She was the queen!" he snarled, "and a decade my elder!"   
"Boys do learn in the beds of older women," she said more quietly.   
"I didn't!" he spat, "as well you know!"   
"Do I?"   
"We were lovers, Rowena; young and hot for each other," he reminded her. "But what has all that to do with why you sent for me? Why now?"   
Rowena pushed her weakened body higher up against her pillows. "Your exploits became legend, Bowen; your whereabouts shrouded in myth; it took a long time to track you down."   
"I was at the fortress until Freyne died. More than eight years, Rowena!" he emphasised.   
"I know, and it was because of Freyne that I couldn't come back."   
"Freyne?" Bowen frowned, peering hard at the woman who still retained some look of the Old Ones; those Celts who had lived in the land long before Saxon or even Roman had set foot in it. Her green eyes flashed at him and he recalled tales of the Merlin and Morgan le Fey - the Faery Queen herself.   
"He wanted me; I would not yield. My race gives, we are not trophies; those that submit - as Aislinn did - live to regret it. He believed he had rights over any woman his lustful eyes fell upon."   
"So did his son," Bowen remarked sadly. Composing himself, he challenged her. "But why didn't you tell me that? We could have eloped."   
"We were not betrothed; I doubt we were truly in love."   
Bowen opened his mouth to protest; her hand raised to silence him.   
"Bowen, you have a daughter," she proclaimed.   
"You heard?!" he said, surprised. "What has she to do with this?"   
"No; not the infant you left at the fortress," allowing her fading eyes to impale Bowen's puzzled expression. "My daughter. Erin."   
"Erin?!" he exclaimed. "I don't... I can't believe it," shaking his head vigorously.   
"Believe it, Bowen. She's the result of our union that last Beltane."   
"Does she know about me?"   
"Of course."   
"I mean: that I am... that she's my daughter."   
"She's always known. I raised her in the Once Ways and taught her all I knew about you."   
Bowen was dumbstruck. "How do I explain all this to my wife? She has always believed me to be an honourable man; virtuous."   
"You are, Bowen. Return to her; tell her that we make no demands upon you, I've done what I wanted. Just assure me that Erin will be welcome at your table," and she held out a shaking hand for his promise.   
He took it. "I swear to you that should Erin need comfort or shelter, I will welcome her," then he kissed the hand whose skin was dry as parchment. "May I come back and see you?"   
"If you wish," she said, taking back her hand.   
Erin returned with a tankard of beer for Bowen, having deliberately remained out of the conversation. She gifted him with a haughty expression. He stood, took the beer and viewed her with disdain.   
"Will that one know its father?" his hand fluttering to her stomach. "Does he know?"   
"He knew the possibility."   
"Knew?" he echoed, not daring to think he understood.   
"This is a special child; part of the Summerfest. He knew that when he lay with me. His purpose was to provide the sacrifice and make me goddess for that one night."   
Bowen turned back to Rowena. "Is she what I think she is? Is that why you ran; to save me from your heathen sacrifice?"   
"What you did not know couldn't harm you. You were no willing victim; your life was never in danger; I told you why I fled."   
"Freyne. He's been dead more than fourteen years, Rowena; you could have come back."   
"No, Bowen, I couldn't; I was married by then." Her face suddenly became a mask of pain and Erin stepped forward to comfort her mother.   
Over her shoulder, she told Bowen to go home. "This will pass," she told him.   
"I will come back," he vowed.   
"We will be here. Will you not kiss my mother goodbye?"   
"No; she lost that right when she denied me mine; as a knight and a man," and he swung away leaving mother and daughter alone. 

********** 

Bowen was cold, breathless and shaking with emotion as he mounted up and rode for home. It was darkest night; clouds covered all the stars and even the moon hid from view. He felt lonelier than he'd done for a long time. Shadows enveloped him and the winter wind whipped at his face stinging tears from his eyes till he wasn't certain as to the cause. Was he angry that Rowena had kept such a secret for so long? Was he ashamed that his youthful passion had borne fruit? All he knew as he galloped home was that Kara would be waiting for the truth and telling her would be the hardest thing he'd ever done.   
He reached the fortress in less time than it had taken to leave it; stabled his horse and headed back into the lodge. Silently, leather shoes crossed wooden boards to the ante-chamber once graced by Aislinn. He had once heard vague rumours that the queen favoured him more than just for his warrior skills and he'd vehemently denied it for the lie it was. Yet he had also thrilled at the idea - if briefly.   
Wondering if Kara would still be awake, he crept into the chamber, presuming that she'd gone to bed since the only source of light was the fire, though the odour of recently extinguished lamps hung in the air. Throwing off his cloak and letting it fall over a bench, he sat down to pull off his shoes.   
"What's wrong, Bowen?" Kara's voice asked from the darkness.   
Startled, he swung around to see where she was, seeing her rise gracefully from a carved chair set by the hearth and edge towards him; she was still fully dressed.   
"Why are you sitting in the dark?" he countered.   
"Just to see what mood you returned in. You look as if it was bad news." She stopped directly in front of him and looked down into his face.   
"Disturbing," he allowed, gazing up at her, unable to discern her features in the gloom. "Is Gwyneth asleep?"   
"Of course."   
"She has a sister," he croaked.   
"What?! How? Whose child?" and her hands splayed defiantly on her hips.   
"Sit down, love," he begged. "It was a shock to me too." He was grateful when she joined him on the bench.   
"Was that in the message that girl brought?" her mind all a-scramble.   
"She was the message. That was my daughter."   
Kara's eyes widened. "But... she's a grown woman." The shock began to level out.   
"Yes. Her mother is Rowena; I hadn't seen her since we were both eighteen."   
"And she's dying?" Kara needed confirming.   
"She's very sick, that's why she asked for me; to tell me about Erin."   
"So it's your grandchild she carries." The idea was vaguely amusing.   
Bowen winced and Erin's words now made sense; Kara was surprised. But then she surprised him by getting up and walking towards the screen. She was going to bed!   
"Kara; wait, please." He wanted to explain how he felt, not merely present her with cold facts. Had he destroyed her perception of him? Here was a spectre from his past; this was nothing like telling her of Moire and his first marriage, there was honour in that; this was tawdry - he was ashamed. Wondering if he dared even join her in their bed, he held his head in his hands to gather his thoughts.   
He didn't see Kara walk back into the chamber; pause by a shelf where Aislinn's carved dragons still sat as sentinels and stroke the head of one. Kara's eyes beheld Bowen, hunched over his knees; head bowed and she knew it was up to her to offer a small measure of absolution. Crossing the floor, her footfall alerted him to her presence; his head snapped up.   
"Kara, I - " he began, but she put a finger to his lips and then sat beside him again.   
" - ssh," she hissed. "Let me first say that I love you."   
Without hesitation, he took her by the shoulders and with great emotion declared: "And I love you." The sigh that followed almost choked him and his next words were ragged. "Will you let me tell you all of it?"   
She nodded and kissed his cheek; being pulled into an ardent embrace as he accepted her permission. Her hands were gripped tightly and his eyes flew across her face; then he began his tale.   
"Rowena had come to the fortress with her mother when Aislinn married Freyne; we were only eight years old. From being playmates - childhood companions - we became more as we grew older. When we were both sixteen, she took me to the Beltane feast; got me dancing at the revels there," and he smiled at the memory. "That's when we first lay together," he said awkwardly and paused, putting a hand to his cheek; it burned.   
Bowen cleared his throat; looked at Kara, who gave him an encouraging smile and continued: "I was myself learning the Old Code and not yet learned how to control my actions, desires - or my body," he added with a meaningful raise of an eyebrow. "I never stopped to consider any... consequences of my lust."   
"Lust?" Kara interrupted.   
"Yes; it was a game, not really love and Rowena was aware of it too."   
"The game bore fruit, Bowen, so how come you never knew?"   
"We'd been lovers for two full years - I attended three of her festivals; then she suddenly disappeared and I've only just learned why."   
"Because she was with child?"   
"No; to Rowena and her kind - pure-bred Celts - that wasn't important. No; it was to prevent Freyne from claiming her," and he squeezed Kara's hands. "Like father, like son," he whispered, feeling her tense at the reminder.   
"So it would seem," she agreed. "You look tired, Bowen; come to bed."   
He viewed her with surprise. "I wasn't sure... " gesturing lamely and shrugging.   
She stood up and tugged on his hand. "I offer rest, Bowen - in your own bed, as is your right."   
Chewing on his bottom lip, he accepted the olive branch as no more than that. 

********** 

Both snuggled down beneath the blankets and fur skins, but for once, Bowen kept on his shirt as a symbolic gesture to Kara that he expected nothing from her. Yet his conscience still wasn't clear. Rolling to face her, he stretched out a hand to her. Gaining her attention, he sought to ease that conscience.   
"My daughters are both beautiful; don't you think?"   
"I cannot judge; Gwyneth is my own child and I've only met Erin briefly."   
"I cannot believe I sired her."   
"Who? Erin? How can you be sure that you did?" she said with suspicion.   
"Well... I can't - can any man?" his eyes screwing up at her barbed comment.   
"Gwyneth is yours, one look tells you so," she defended. "All knew who my father was too."   
"Why so suspicious?"   
"Because it all seems so late to tell you. Why not years ago?"   
"I told you; because of Freyne."   
"Rubbish!" she scoffed, edging away from him. "Don't let vanity blind you, Bowen; I don't want you to be duped."   
"Suspicious and scathing! But it wasn't vanity; she played upon my guilt. Yet I wonder about the man who took on another's child - Rowena has been married."   
"Who to? And why?"   
"I don't know those answers but I can ask; I intend to go back, Kara."   
"I expected you would." Then she burrowed against his chest.   
Again, she surprised him. Her words had been acid; accusative even. Now she slid nimble fingers inside the open lacings of his shirt and began to forage beneath the fabric. He allowed her that first move; chuckled when her warm toes crawled up his shin but took control of the situation before she touched any other part of him. In a tantalising tone, he asked: "Are you trying to seduce me?!" with a broad grin that was hardly discernible to her eyes.   
"Trying? I thought I was succeeding!" letting her hand dive beneath the hem of his shirt.   
"Alright, lady, I surrender my sword to you; do what you will with me!"   
She didn't need to see the glint in his eyes, she heard its echo in his voice. It was part of Bowen she most loved; the word games he played with her; the merriment that always   
accompanied his lovemaking. Her greatest regret was in not having met him before her reckless attempt to kill Einon...   
His mouth was at her throat; gentle hands crept beneath her shift to begin banishing once again any further recollections of the man who linked their fates. 

********** 

Morning brought strong sunlight into the chamber, though without much warmth in it; spring was again postponed. Bowen woke with a yelp of pain as cramp knotted calf muscles in his right leg. Flinging aside the covers, he leapt out of bed and began hopping about the room.   
The sudden draught from his hurried departure woke Kara too. Sleepily, she searched with her eyes and - finding Bowen engaged in an ungainly dance - began to laugh. "What are you doing?" she asked, sitting up to better see, then reaching for something to combat the icy blast of the morning.   
Swinging to face her, he muttered: "Cramp," out between clenched teeth. "Sweet Jesus!" he groaned.   
"Stand on it," she commanded, pulling on her shift and sliding from the bed. "You have to force your foot to the floor," and she knelt in front of him as he obeyed her, to begin kneading strong fingers into the afflicted muscles. "What brought it on?" she asked, momentarily glancing up at him; still stark naked.   
"I don't know," he croaked, looking down at a veil of flame-coloured hair and the shroud of white beneath it. "Perhaps it's a sign of old age," he ventured.   
"Never! Old men cannot do what you did last night," she declared.   
"Really? How would you know?!" he said playfully, leaning down to draw her up to her feet.   
"I've heard gossip," her eyes twinkling as they met his. "How is it now?"   
"What?" forgetting the banished pain in the beauty he beheld.   
"Your leg."   
"Which one?" he teased with a roguish grin.   
"This one," and she kicked at the bruised calf.   
"Ow! What was that for?" bending to rub the back of his leg. His tangled hair fell to hide his face totally.   
"Impudence," answered Kara, trying to hide her amusement.   
"Impudent? Me?! Not so," as he straightened and made a grab for her.   
She let him enfold her; her thin shift doing nothing to mask the extent to which the word game had now brought him. He kissed her then she broke away. "I must dress."   
"Oh, not yet," he complained.   
"Yes - now," she insisted, "before someone interrupts us."   
"No one would dare," he protested.   
"Gwyneth would."   
"She's too young to understand what we do," catching hold of her again.   
"Bowen!" Kara chastised, "control yourself!"   
He tutted but released her. The cold air had already found its way to his bare legs and was now creeping up to that portion of him which would most suffer from its icy touch. Regretfully, he wandered back to the pile of discarded clothing and began to dress, a fortunate manoeuvre as it happened for there came an insistant banging on the ante-room door. Exchanging puzzled glances with Kara, Bowen offered to go. Hitching up his breeches, he strode barefoot to the chamber door.   
"I'm coming!" he shouted as the banging continued; muttering to himself about impatient folk and had just fastened the breeches by the time he reached the door. It opened easily to reveal Brother Gilbert fidgeting in the passage beyond.   
"Ah, Bowen... sorry to... wake you," he stuttered breathlessly. "There's a... a young... woman in the... the hall. She's... she's... with child."   
"Erin, here? Why?"   
"She asked for you," the priest said more calmly, seeing that Bowen wasn't at all angry by the news.   
Bowen's hand landed on the priest's shouder. "Lead on, Brother." 

********** 

Erin turned as she heard footsteps behind her. Seeing Bowen dressed in just breeches and his hair not even combed, reminded her that she was intruding upon his life. Bowing her head in greeting, she uttered a phrase of supplication.   
"Forgive me, Sir Knight; but my mother is dying."   
Brother Gilbert stepped into the meeting. "Then you have need of a priest, my child."   
"Not a Christian priest," Erin scorned. "Will you come?" she again asked Bowen.   
"Yes; but I need a few minutes. Brother Gilbert, will you give this girl some refreshment?" adding with a wolfish grin: "And treat her kindly, she's my daughter."   
Gilbert's eyes almost popped out of his head and he became tongue-tied. "D-d-daugher?" he spluttered, wondering where in Bowen's colourful life this unearthly creature fitted.   
"It's a long story," Bowen responded, "perhaps Erin will tell it to you?" he said in query to her.   
"If you wish."   
"Brother Gilbert is a good friend and composer of those ballads concerning my past exploits."   
"I see. Then I can perhaps furnish him with material for more," and she smiled smugly at the monk. 

********** 

Bowen returned to his chamber where he intended to take his leave of Kara; but she went with him to the kitchen where Erin and Brother Gilbert were deep in conversation.   
"... so does he live up to your expectations?" the priest was asking.   
"He is all I was told... " and her eyes saw Bowen approach, "and more." She rose unsteadily when she perceived Kara following. "Madam," she bowed courteously. "Forgive me for depriving you of my father's company again but - "   
" - how dare you?!" Kara snarled, earning the surprised scowls of the three others in the room.   
"Kara!" Bowen admonished, laying hold of her arm. "Her mother is dying!"   
"Then let the man who wed her comfort her last moments, not you!"   
"My step-father has been dead for two years," Erin told the red-headed woman who came to stand nose to nose with her.   
"And who was he?!"   
"A kind man," answered Erin icily, "though not all considered him so."   
"But who was he?" Kara insisted.   
The two men stood in silent awe as the pair of females fought their verbal battle; occassionally exchanging worried glances and wondering what Kara hoped to gain from the interrogation. The answer was the biggest surprise to all three.   
"Sir Brok," Erin said with a haughty toss of her dark mane.   
"No!" shouted Bowen. He felt as if he'd been pole-axed. Marching up to Erin, he challenged her assessment of the man. "We all knew Brok and he was never kind! He was Freyne's man and later served Einon with as much enthusiasm!"   
"That's as maybe but he was kind to me," Erin repeated, gazing intently at Bowen.   
"Did he know who sired you?" Bowen asked more quietly.   
Shaking her head, Erin said: "No. But he knew of Freyne's intentions towards Mam, so their marriage was kept a secret."   
"No wonder Brok never entertained at home," Bowen said sarcastically. "It explains too, the lack of women in his company and his hot denial of deviant practices," and he actually laughed.   
"Do you know how he died?" Kara said vindictively.   
Angling her head towards her father's wife, Erin answered in suitable defensive mode: "In the service of his king."   
"And you approved of that service?" Kara asked. "Do you know what manner of man Einon was?"   
"Ruthless," came the simple answer. "His death was a gift from the gods."   
"No! The gift of a dragon!" Kara was angry. "And Brok's death, how do you judge that?!" amber eyes boring into blue; a hue that she knew too well.   
"With sadness," and Erin lowered her eyes from the golden orbs.   
"Hm. Do you know who killed him?"   
"Kara, don't!" Bowen pleaded.   
"We never learned," Erin replied.   
"I did," Kara informed the young woman.   
Sucking in her breath and clutching at her stomach, Erin looked to Bowen in the hopes of a denial. "Is... that... true?"   
"Yes," he answered simply.   
"He would have killed me," Kara continued. "All of Einon's lackeys died that night.   
"We knew a different man to the one who raised you," Bowen said, trying to calm the fretful atmosphere. "We did what was necessary."   
"I understand that; but he was still special to me - the only father I ever knew."   
"Whose fault was that?!" snapped Kara.   
"That's enough!" Bowen barked. "A woman is dying and we stand arguing about the past; of things none of us can change!" and he eyed Kara with meaning. She cast her eyes down. "Erin, are you ready to go?"   
"Yes."   
Gilbert edged forward, breaking his own silence. "Please, Bowen, allow me to go with you."   
"As you wish." Planting a platonic kiss on Kara's cheek, he, Gilbert and Erin then left. 

********** 

Kara stood alone in the kitchen of the wooden lodge, hating herself for the jealousy she was feeling towards the young woman who had just left. In truth, it was Bowen's reactions that spawned the jealousy. He appeared ready to do anything the girl asked and visit a woman he'd not seen in two decades. It dawned on Kara that there was too much about Bowen's past she didn't know and sadly, without Nerys to consult, things she might never know.   
Resigning herself to sitting and waiting for him to return, her old fiery spirit suddenly questioned as to why she shouldn't go after him. Gathering her resolve, she collected her own daughter and within minutes of Bowen leaving, she was in the saddle and hot on his trail; Gwyneth strapped safely in front of her. 

********** 

A watery sun peeked from behind grey clouds as the riders made their way towards the old hill fort. Two horses; one mule, carried Bowen, Erin and Brother Gilbert to the bedside of a dying woman.   
"I take it you have servants?" Bowen queried to Erin. "Only I didn't see any before."   
"Naturally. You weren't meant to see them; they know their place."   
Bowen grimaced; he wasn't sure he liked her rigid attitude and suspected it to be a result of Brok's influence. That rankled him; a man like that had raised his child! But the past could never be changed; nothing can bring back the dead - or even sometimes, prevent death.   
They reached the earthworks and rode into its defended compound. The place was a hive of activity in the morning light and two lads came out of nowhere to tend to the horses. One looked with uncertainty at the monk on his mule until Erin whispered a command; he laughed then took the bridle of the creature to lead it away too.   
"What did you say to him?" asked Bowen, handing his own reins to the second youth.   
"That the size of our mounts denotes our rank in society," Erin answered.   
"Not necessarily," Bowen defended. "Brother Gilbert is a priest and took a vow of poverty. Humility denotes the size of his mount."   
"Thank you, Bowen," the monk said, scowling at the young woman and thinking uncharitable thoughts about her status - especially her condition. Leaning to Bowen, he whispered: "Is she a Pagan?"   
Surprised, Bowen answered: "How did you guess?!"   
"Hm; it all fits. The superior attitude; her style of dress; not to mention her poor manners and lack of respect towards a man of God."   
Bowen couldn't help but laugh. "You forgot one thing, Brother Gilbert - she's a woman!"   
"Hm? What has that got to do with it?"   
"Women like to think themselves superior!" but the jest was wasted on the priest.   
Turning back to Bowen, Erin decided it was time to go inside. 

********** 

Rowena had deteriorated considerably since Bowen's initial visit; the sight of her almost froze him in the doorway.   
"Courage, Bowen," Brother Gilbert encouraged and he began to mumble prayers as he boldly approached the bed.   
"She has no need of your incantations!" Erin rebuked.   
"Erin!" Bowen retaliated, "where's your charity?" He strode past the young woman and sat on Rowena's bed. Taking her thin hands in his own, he leaned and murmured to his one-time lover: "I came back, Rowena, just as I promised."   
Tired eyes fought to open. Bleerily they focused on the healthy image of the man before them. "Bowen?" croaked the prematurely-old woman.   
"Yes."   
"Come to gloat?"   
"No!" he protested. "Erin asked me to come."   
Before any more bitter words were spoken, a servant came scurrying into the Great Hall and spoke covertly to Erin. Bowen studied his daughter's face and read displeasure on it. Then she faced him.   
"Your wife is here," she said sharply.   
"Kara? Why?"   
"Why don't we ask her?" as she snapped her fingers at the servant, sending him hurrying away again.   
Kara was escorted into the vast building and down towards the screened area at its far end, anxiously looking out for Bowen. In her arms squirmed Gwyneth, fresh from her first full gallop across open country and eager for more. Then Kara spied her husband and quickened her pace; but he rose to intercept her before she reached Rowena.   
"Why have you come?!" he hissed at her. "And to bring the child too!"   
"I had no one I could trust to leave her with," her jaw set in defiance.   
"Why come at all?"   
"Curiosity."   
"What?!" he exclaimed incredulously. "You came to watch someone die?!"   
"No, Bowen; I came to see what manner of woman can command you after deserting you so long ago." Her shaft struck home.   
He seized her arm and almost dragged her to the bed. "There!" he pointed. "Look all you wish!"   
Wrenching free, Kara pushed Gwyneth into Bowen's arms. Then Rowena's small voice forestalled any further marital banter.   
"Is that your child, Bowen? Bring her to me."   
"No!" Kara shouted, lunging to snatch Gwyneth back.   
Bowen dodged her and the child squealed, thinking it to be a new game. He took the year old toddler to the bed; sat down and perched her on his lap. "This is Gwyneth."   
"She's beautiful, Bowen, you must be proud of her."   
"I am," he said with certainty.   
"Where is your wife then?"   
He looked to where Kara stood, grim-faced and arms folded. He beckoned her to come forward.   
"No, Bowen," Rowena said, managing to catch his sleeve. "Not the nurse; your wife."   
Then he understood and realised how class-conscious Rowena was. Had she always been so? He couldn't recall; but then, he'd never been too involved with the serving classes or peasants before.   
"Kara is my wife," catching her hand possessively.   
"Wife - or whore?!" the sick woman scorned. "She's a peasant!"   
Roused in defence, Bowen pulled Kara down to her knees beside him and looked intently at her as he informed Rowena: "She is the woman I love; my legally wedded wife, as you may have been had you not run away from me!" and he swung his face back to the woman on the bed.   
Rowena began to cough. Shuddering as the spasm ceased, she rasped at him: "I too married for love; I did not love you, Bowen."   
"Love?!" Kara shrieked. "How could you love an animal like Brok?!"   
Both Erin and Gilbert edged closer to the ensuing argument; she with mounting anger, he with latent fear that Kara was about to confess yet again.   
"Did your daughter tell you that I killed him?" Kara continued.   
More coughing. "No," Rowena mouthed.   
Bowen chose that moment to take charge of the situation. In a series of swift moves, he stood; pushed Gwyneth into Gilbert's arms, thereby alarming the priest; yanked Kara to her feet and took Erin by the hand. Flanked by the two women, he literally marched them into the centre of the Hall.   
"Stop this; both of you!" he demanded. "Rowena is dying and you squabble like drabs over the price of their favours!"   
His words silenced them; perhaps because of the insulting metaphor he used on them. Kara's back stiffened in defiance and she turned on her heel. Whereas Erin lowered herself awkwardly onto a bench. Satisfied, Bowen hurried back to Rowena; smiling stupidly at Brother Gilbert who was fending off Gwyneth's inquisitive fingers.   
"Slap them, Brother Gilbert," he advised, "or she'll pinch your nose next."   
She did. Gilbert howled his displeasure and, on reflex action, swiped at the small fingers as if they were annoying flies.   
"See; you must be master. Now, please take her to her mother, I need to speak to Rowena - alone." Spinning around, Bowen removed his cloak and looked down at her. She looked greatly weakened. Carefully, he eased down on her bed.   
She peered under half-closed eyelids and sighed. "Is this how it must end, Bowen? With us fighting over the differences in our lives. Please," and her hand rose unsteadily in entreaty, "tell me of your life."   
It took some time but Bowen did just that. 

********** 

"You did well, Bowen," Rowena said quietly.   
Gripping her hands and resting his elbows on the bed, Bowen asked the crunch question. "Why did you marry Brok?"   
Her giggle became a gurgled which in turn set her coughing. Bowen changed position and sat her up, cradling her against his chest. Bony fingers clutched at his tunic.   
"He understood our ways; the Old Ways."   
"Never," Bowen denied, remembering the man's awed fear in Draco's cave so many years before. "He was one of Einon's men. Do you have any idea what that boy became?" he said passionately.   
"Oh, I knew; but how could I blame my husband for his master's actions?"   
"He should have left - as I did."   
"And done what?"   
"Fought against tyranny; that way he may have lived."   
"Why did you take up the fight, Bowen? It wasn't yours."   
He frowned. "Because a young girl had more faith in me than I had in myself."   
"Your wife?"   
"Yes."   
"She inspired you to glory."   
"No glory - for any of us. It was retribution and revenge. Kara avenged her father and I avenged her."   
"For what?"   
"Einon raped her; but he betrayed me too. And a dragon... " as his voice became emotional.   
"No wonder you hated him."   
"The violation happened before we met and was a spectre between us."   
"But surely you overcame it? There is your daughter as proof."   
Bowen's eyes raised in irony. "A child is no proof of love as you well know."   
"But it's all in the past."   
"The past has a habit of resurfacing. Rowena; I came here out of respect for our past, but you cannot expect me to change what I have built."   
"No, Bowen, I don't. It's enough that you came; that you know about Erin, I can at last die content."   
He gazed down at the woman against him; there was little of her left and he sensed that her end was near. Making himself more comfortable, he held her closer, brushing dull hair from her face and sliding a finger down her cheek.   
"Watch... our... grandchild... please... " she mumbled.   
"I will; I promise." But he would never know if she'd heard him. In those few seconds, Rowena had silently slipped away. 

********** 

He shed no tears; her death was no more than that of a stranger. Even breaking the news to Erin had been done in a matter of fact way. She'd nodded and turned in silence to pay her respects. If Erin shed tears over her mother, Bowen did not see, he hustled Kara out of the Great Hall to the waiting horses, passing a puzzled Brother Gilbert on the way.   
"Are we leaving, Bowen?" the priest hailed.   
"Yes!" came the curt response.   
Not wishing to be left behind, Gilbert scurried outside to find Merlin safely tethered beside the horses. Despite his efforts to engage Bowen in conversation, the knight merely made monosyllabic responses until Gilbert gave up; shrugging his shoulders and glancing at Kara in defeat.   
Another day drew to a close as the trio rode back into the fortress. Each dismounted and led their animal to the stables. Kara took her leave first, using Gwyneth as an excuse.   
"She's tired and hungry; I bid you a pleasant night, Brother Gilbert."   
"God bless you, Kara; and you, sweet thing," as he kissed the toddler's cheek. When they'd gone, Gilbert broached the matter of Rowena's death. "Are you alright, Bowen? You seem far too subdued."   
"I'm fine, Brother, why wouldn't I be?" as he unsaddled his horse.   
"She was - "   
" - what?" he growled.   
"I was about to say: she was the mother of your child."   
Throwing the saddle over a rail, Bowen spun around. "She never thought me worthy enough to be a father though," he said bitterly.   
"Perhaps she regretted that. At least you know now."   
"I wish I didn't!" His anger flowed into his fingers as they grappled to unbuckle the bridle. "That knowledge may have damaged my marriage." The bridle gave way and was hung up on a post. Slapping the horse, Bowen urged it into a stall and fed it some hay.   
"Surely not?" the priest denied.   
"You think?" Bowen frowned. "Kara is a proud woman; learning about this may have damaged her pride. She thought she knew me," he said sadly.   
"She does," Gilbert insisted. "She may be shocked; I admit that I was - but it does not alter our perspective of what we know you are now." He laid a hand on Bowen's chest. "Have courage, Bowen; you've faced worse."   
"No, Brother, I haven't. She is all that matters in my life now."   
"Then woo her again. You won against far grimmer odds two years ago," he emphasised.   
Bowen was amazed by the priest's insight. A wan smile tweaked the corners of his mouth. "I always thought you to be my conscience; now you turn out to be my counsellor too." Clapping the monk on the back with force enough to make the man stagger, Bowen thanked him. "Join me for supper," he requested.   
"What about Kara?"   
"I'll let her settle Gwyneth for the night before I even try to smooth the ground."   
"Very well, I would be honoured to share your repast; it will be like old times."   
"Hardly; but I see your point," and they left the stables together. 

********** 

The ante-chamber was shrouded in darkness by the time Bowen had recovered his courage sufficiently to face Kara. He had expected that she'd be sitting waiting for him and was disapointed by the silent gloom that greeted him, although the odour in the air told him the lamps hadn't been long extinguished. Draping his cloak across the back of a chair, he stood a moment just listening. His keen ears picked up the creaking of the boards as the drop in   
temperature contracted them. Wood sparks spat and cracked in the hearth as he left the warmth of the fire at his back to walk to the screen.   
But his nose was as keen as his ears and he caught the scent of pine; it told him that Kara was in the bed-chamber. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness they spied the crib on the other side of the screen, placed out of the draughts. He peeked inside to see his daughter in deep slumber. Turning his back on her brought him to face the foot of the bed where a large clothing chest stood.   
Sitting on its lid, Bowen pulled off his shoes then unbuckled his sword belt, hanging it up on a peg driven into a support post. His fingers then went to the silver-ornamented belt that had been a gift from Queen Aislinn when he'd returned to her service. Unthreading it, he carefully unfastened the buckle and reverently laid the strip of leather beside him; the hammered images of Celtic warriors winked up at him and he smiled down at them.   
Standing, he pulled his tunic over his head - that same black tunic he'd had so many years now; mended and patched, but somehow a symbol of who he was. Its edging took up the Celtic theme in its pattern of knots; Bowen was proud of those links to his past. He let the tunic drop onto the chest and unfastened his hose and breeches. Hearing a sigh come from the bed behind him, he craned his neck around. The garments fell to his ankles and he stepped out of them, piling them on top of the tunic. His eyes discerned a mound of white cloth moving in the bed and he wondered if he'd woken Kara.   
She sat up at the moment the clouds shifted, allowing a moonbeam to highlight her form and turn her red hair to a peculiar shade of purple.   
Sucking in his breath, Bowen apologised. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?" he whispered, his voice weak at the sight of her.   
"Mm; I did wait but I was too tired."   
"I'm sorry." His hands were clasped across his body as if to protect his most vulnerable parts against an expected assault.   
Kara though had no such thought on her mind. "You look tired too; come to bed."   
He then tugged the shirt down, suddenly embarrassed by the way she was so obviously staring at him. A draught curled around his bare legs and his feet were getting cold; he shivered.   
"Do you plan to stand there all night?" Kara asked.   
"No," he rasped. "I'll try not to bring in too much of the cold," and he edged, a little uncertainly, towards the bed.   
"I can soon warm you," came the seductive offer.   
Bowen halted, one hand ready to pull back the covers. Leaning down, he said: "Then I am not banished?"   
"For what?"   
He snorted. "Presenting you with a step-daughter."   
"You broke no vow you made to me," and she flung back the bedding, patting the mattress as an invitation.   
"I know; but somehow I feel I have betrayed you." He climbed carefully into the bed but sat up.   
"A child of your youth, Bowen is no betrayal of me," she allowed.   
He looked at her in disbelief. "You mean that?"   
"With all my heart," and she tried to pull him down to her. "Ooh, your feet are cold!" she complained. "How long have you been dithering about?"   
"Long enough." He snuggled down and took her in his arms.   
"I confess to being envious of Rowena's attachment to you; but her death sobered that jealousy," she said, stroking his cheek.   
"You had no cause at all to be jealous - I never loved her as I love you." To prove it, he kissed Kara tenderly but not with any passion.   
"I believe you," answering his tenderness with a bold movement; her hand slid under the hem of his shirt, coming to rest on his hip.   
Without further words, Bowen surrendered. 

**********   
Candlemas was one of the coldest in living memory. Brother Gilbert shivered in his cassock as he conducted the church service, hurrying through the prayers so that he and the villagers   
could all return to warm hearths. Not even the most pious challenged the monk for his haste, and Kara had slipped out of the chapel long before the last prayer had been begun never mind ended.   
She shuffled along the passageway carrying Gwyneth in her arms; only the child it seemed didn't appear to mind the bitter weather and had enjoyed her first encounters with the snow. Now at almost fourteen months old, Gwyneth had developed a distinct personality that included a liking for getting her own way, a trait that Bowen attributed to Kara's influence in the matter.   
In that regard, Gwyneth struggled in her mother's arms, making grunting noises and waving to the ground. Kara gripped the child tighter and spoke firmly to her.   
"Not now, Gwyneth; it's far too cold to go out and play."   
Gwyneth pouted and wriggled again. "Mam-ma; pees," her little voice entreated.   
"No, sweetness, another day. Look," and she took her daughter to one of the shutters. Opening it but a fraction, the sudden icy blast was enough to force Kara to back up. "Too cold," she repeated.   
"Cold," mimicked Gwyneth.   
"Yes. Let's go and get warm; we can play a game with the dice." Refastening the shutter, Kara caught a movement on the slope leading up to the lodge. Curious, her eyes remained fixed.   
"You'll both freeze," Bowen's voice said at Kara's back.   
Whirling around, she explained: "There's someone down there - look."   
Bowen stuck his head out of the casement. "Whoever it is, they look to be in trouble. Ask Brother Gilbert to meet me down there," and he hurried away. 

********** 

Fortunately, Bowen had bothered to go back for his cloak, but the temperature was still a frost-biting low. Picking his way down the incline that curved its way to the compound, he squinted against the glare thrown up from the ice and snow around him. The dark figure weaving its way towards him was a welcome respite from so much whiteness.   
Pausing to shade his eyes, Bowen then realised the figure had the gait of a woman, albeit a rather ungainly one. Then he frowned as her swathed head rose to perceive him too.   
"Erin?!" he called, rushing as fast as he dare. "Are you crazy, girl?! Travelling in this weather is a fool's errand," as he drew level with her.   
She fixed him with bright blue eyes. "But I arrived," she said simply.   
"Aye; but are you safe?" his eyes dropping to the vast swell of her belly. "It was madness. Why not send a messenger?" and he grabbed hold of her firmly, steering her up the rest of the walkway.   
They met Brother Gilbert a couple of yards from the summit. He flew into a panic as soon as he recognised Erin. "Dear Lord; are you trying for an open-air birth, my child? Shall I fetch the midwife, Bowen?" He attempted to lend his hands to those of Bowen.   
"No!" commanded Erin, her hands flailing at the monk. "I want no chanting priest or foolish women near me!" and she glared at Gilbert who scurried away.   
"Erin!" Bowen admonished, still leading her on. "There's a competent woman who lives within the boundary, let her at least make certain your child is well."   
"He's well. That's why I am here; I want him to be born here," and she eyeballed Bowen. "It's what Mam wanted."   
Bowen snorted in derision. "Then why didn't you return with me? Or at least come at Yuletide; the weather at least was fairer then."   
"It was too soon for you, Bowen."   
He flinched at her use of his name; yet what else was she to call him? For all he'd sired her, he wasn't a father to her. "Too soon? I promised your mother I would guard our grandchild. But for this inhospitable weather, I would have been to visit you. Even Kara calculated that you must have been due around Candlemas."   
"Imbolc," Erin corrected.   
"Whatever you choose to call it, that day is here," he emphasised.   
"And so am I." The haughty posture had returned; so had Gilbert - with a woman. 

********** 

It was Bowen who persuaded the proud Erin to let the peasant woman near her. He put her in the room that his mother had once occupied, and threatened her.   
"You let her do what she must; you don't know everything. I'll be back soon and if I discover you've chased her away, you'll discover how harsh a father I can be!"   
"And what will you do? Beat me like the good Christian that you are!" she judged scathingly.   
"No!" He bristled at the accusation. "Tie you down for your own good!" and he stormed out.   
When he did return, Erin was markedly meeker. He raised his eyebrows at the midwife and questioned her as he made his way toward Erin. "So; has she murdered it? Put herself at risk by such recklessness?"   
"Surprisingly, neither," the woman answered, "considering she's dropped and likely to deliver any day."   
Erin smiled smugly at Bowen and his partner in crime. "I know nothing, hm?"   
"I said: you don't know everything," he reminded her, crouching down in front of the chair where Erin sat like a sack of wheat. "Learn to accept help, girl," he lectured, patting her hand. "I am not your enemy - even if I am a Christian," and for the first time, Bowen smiled broadly at the beautiful young woman.   
She viewed him with interest and a part of her heart thawed towards him. "A truce then?" she suggested.   
"If you are to stay here - yes." His grin widened, drawing forth one from Erin, but their bargain was struck. 

********** 

"Erin? Here?" Kara said, flabbergasted by the whole idea. "Why?"   
"She wants the child to be born here," Bowen answered.   
"Huh!" scoffed his wife, "I thought she prided her independence."   
"She does; but Rowena asked me to guard the child, Erin is honouring her mother's wishes." He squinted at Kara under lowered eyelids, hoping that having Erin at the fortress wouldn't cause another problem within his marriage. "You could guide her," he ventured.   
"What?!" spluttered Kara.   
"She's close to your age; she's almost as stubborn as you - "   
" - stubborn?!" blustered the red-head, "how am I stubborn?!"   
Bowen threw an arm around his wife's shoulders. "You raised a rebellion out of sheer stubborness."   
Shaking her head, Kara humbly denied her husband's praise. "But for you, that would never have happened and you know it."   
"I had an impressive ally," he smiled.   
"On that we agree."   
"So will you try to calm down that head-strong young woman in the next chamber? Please?" he begged sweetly.   
"For you, yes."   
"I love you," and he kissed her by way of a thank you. 

********** 

Kara didn't get much of a chance to guide Erin away from her preconceived notions about Bowen's life; she went into labour the morning after she arrived at the fortress. However, in this instance, Bowen stayed away from the birthing area. Instead, he went about his normal daily routine.   
There were consultations with Gilbert for the coming season and whether to risk taking crops to a market; meeting Hewe and a delegation of villagers about whether Bowen himself ought to be proclaimed as some sort of overlord - a question he had avoided answering for two years - then there was the rescue of a young boy to help with; the lad having fallen into a dyke and become wedged.   
Come noon, Bowen was tired and hungry. As he sat at his table munching on a portion of cold meat, he asked Kara for news of Erin.   
"It's progressing normally, as I understand; it has only been six hours."   
"Yes, but any predictions as to when the birth will be?"   
"You know that's impossible until the head crowns." She joined him on the bench.   
"Has it?"   
"No."   
"Oh." Bowen reached for a tankard of beer and swigged it down. "Tell me when it's over."   
"You can be sure of that." 

********** 

Kara went visiting once Bowen had returned to the problems of normal life. A little apprehensively, she entered Nerys's former chamber to be confronted by all the inherent grunts and groans associated with the traumas of childbirth - and she remembered how afraid she'd been, even with Bowen literally at her back.   
"What do you want here?!" Erin hurled from the chair beside the hearth. "Come to gloat?"   
"Why would I gloat?" Kara answered, moving steadily towards Erin. "I've been through it - remember." Kneeling beside the chair, Kara took one of Erin's hands. "You are no longer alone, I'll stay with you." She spared a glance at the midwife. "What's your name?"   
"Emer, lady," the woman replied.   
"Well, Emer, instruct me. I remember being glad of Bowen sitting at my back."   
Another pain had subsided, allowing Erin to question what Kara had told the midwife. "Bowen was at the birth?"   
"Yes; he supported my back throughout. He was a great comfort. Perhaps I can do the same for you," and her eyes darted from Erin to Emer.   
"We may need more than that," Emer confided. "It's breached and I haven't been able to turn it yet."   
"Breached?" Kara didn't understand.   
"Feet first," she said in a low voice.   
"I hear you, woman!" Erin gasped as another pain coursed through her. "Brigit, help me!" she invoked.   
"Who is Brigit?" Emer asked.   
"Grr!" mumbled Erin. "Heathen! She is the goddess of birth; the midwife."   
"I am the only midwife you have," insisted Emer. "Let me try again." She compelled Erin to lie on the floor and attempted the turning.   
Erin screamed and Kara pulled the woman away.   
"You'll kill her!" she feared.   
"And what do you know, wench?"   
"My husband's mother was a midwife; she told me many things."   
"Huh! Talk is not the same as action."   
Taking Erin's hands, Kara helped her up off the floor. "Walk with me," she told the younger woman.   
"Walk?!" scoffed Erin. "I can hardly move."   
"Yes you can. We'll turn him," she encouraged with a smile. 

********** 

Some time passed as Kara took Erin on circuit after circuit of the chamber. With each pain, Kara acted as a crutch until the real midwife stepped back into the fray.   
"We must try again to turn it," she insisted. This time, she succeeded and an hour later, the child was born safely.   
Kara was near to tears as Erin gripped her hands for that final push; so many memories surged through her as she witnessed birth from another angle. "I must tell Bowen."   
"Wait," begged Erin. "Thank you, Kara; I could not have done this without you. Give me a name for my son."   
"A... name? But... that is your choice."   
"Do you think I could name him for Bowen?"   
Kara smiled. "It would make him proud. A grandson instead of a son," she said wistfully.   
"You're still young enough," Erin observed.   
"No; Bowen insists that there won't be another child," Kara confided.   
"Then change his mind. Surely you know how to get a child?"   
Kara blushed. "Of course; but it isn't up to me - is it?"   
"Isn't it? There are ways... I could tell you how to make a man - "   
" - don't! You speak of private things," and she hurried away to break the news to Bowen. 

********** 

He hardly believed her. "You became the midwife?!" he said incredulously.   
"Yes; in a way. I only did what your mother once told me she'd done."   
Bowen took Kara by the shoulders. "Then you may have saved both their lives," he said with pride. "Let me go and see him," and he moved to leave.   
"Bowen."   
"Yes?" turning to face her.   
"She wants to name him for you."   
Great emotion flooded his features. "Why?" he virtually whispered.   
"I think... I think it's for my sake; because I helped."   
"Then I must lend my name to my grandson." Again he walked away from Kara.   
"If not your son."   
The remark stalled Bowen. He spun around and frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"   
"I want to give you a son."   
"We've discussed this already."   
"No, Bowen; you decided."   
"Yes, and you know why," he said gently.   
"I am not Moire!" and she stamped her foot.   
"I'll not argue that point!"   
"Don't be flippant."   
"I'm not, but I won't discuss this with you now. Later, love, I swear." His eyes begged that she believe him.   
She nodded. "As long as you listen to me this time."   
"I think I'll have to!" and he grinned wickedly at her. "Now, will you let me see this child you helped into the world?" 

********** 

Neither the dragonslayer nor his daughter were prepared for the impact one child would have upon them. When Bowen took his first look at the dark-haired boy in Erin's arms, he found a lump in his throat very difficult to swallow.   
"May I?" he asked, holding out his hands to pick up the infant.   
"If you know how."   
"I had my own daughter in my arms moments after she was born." Then he realised the irony in those words. "I mean... "   
"I know what you mean. We must not pretend, Bowen," she said, deliberately using his given name. "I am grateful that you accept us - you and Kara," letting her gaze fall on the woman almost a decade her senior yet appearing so much younger.   
Bowen cleared his throat. "Kara tells me you wish to name him for me," and he leaned to carefully take the boy from Erin. Expertly, he cradled his grandson.   
"If you will permit me; it's an honourable name."   
"Is it?" he wondered. "A dragonslayer? Hardly befitting a name for one of your race."   
"You are a peacemaker now; a lord - according to the gossip."   
He laughed. "I'm no lord! Nor do I wish to be."   
"Perhaps it's time to accept more than me and your grandchild. Accept the honour; it's what the people want, and accept the plea from your wife too."   
A scowl replaced the smile. "Don't meddle, Erin. Kara knows my reason for not wanting to put her through childbirth again. Would you do it again - willingly?!" he challenged.   
"It takes a clever man to decide such a thing," and she winked at him.   
"No, not clever; cautious - respectful."   
"Honourable attitude, Sir Knight; or are you being a mite selfish?"   
"Selfish? Explain," he demanded, absently rocking the baby.   
"We heard about your first wife."   
He was visibly surprised. "Then you ought to understand."   
"Lightning never strikes twice in the same place," Erin said simply.   
"I'm being bullied!" Bowen declared, beginning to pace the floor. "So much for women complaining about being compelled to bear too many children!"   
"She only wants to give you a son," said Erin sweetly.   
"And how many attempts will it take?!" he argued.   
"Looking at you, Bowen, I'd say: one."   
He wasn't sure how to take the comment. "You can't possibly know that."   
"Perhaps; but think of the fun you'll have!"   
"To fill my home with females?!" He chuckled. "I think not." Enough was enough, he handed the child back to Erin. "Name him for me if you wish, I accept that honour. The rest - let me think about it," and he left the two women alone. 

********** 

Erin remained at the fortress for a fortnight; a thaw had set in by then and she deemed it time to travel home, but she refused to let Bowen take her.   
"You have too much to do here; too many unresolved dilemmas. Work them out, Bowen or I may be forced to call you: Father."   
"Don't you dare, girl!"   
"Then let go of your past, even as you must let me go from here."   
"But you will come back? Or let me come to you?"   
"Yes," she said with more sincerity than ever before. "Bring your family too."   
"I will." Bowen embraced Erin; kissed the boy who now carried his name, then watched as they left the fortress, accompanied by a small group of merchants and peasants.   
**********   
Facing Kara when she was in a beligerent frame of mind was never easy for Bowen. He loved her too much to deny her anything, yet the matter of a second child was a different tale. At that moment, he wished for the advice of his mother but somehow knew what she would have said. Kara was strong and healthy; her first pregnancy had passed without hindrance and even the birth hadn't caused any problems. Gwyneth was almost fifteen months old; if Kara conceived quickly, it would make a two year space between the two. He sighed.   
The ante-chamber was warm and welcoming. Kara stood beside the hearth watching him as he slowly closed the door.   
"She's gone then?"   
"Yes," he answered. "She wants us to visit." He removed his cloak, throwing it over a chair.   
"Mm; all of us?"   
"The invitation was for my family," he clarified, striding to the fire to warm his hands. Smaller hands crept around his waist as he leaned over the flames. Turning his face, Bowen's eyes questioned Kara's.   
"You promised we would talk; it's been a fortnight, Bowen." One hand slid up to his chest.   
"I had much to think about," he excused, claiming the roaming hand in his own.   
"What did you decide?" as her other hand replaced its fellow against his heart.   
"To bow to your wishes," dropping his head in formal courtesy. When he raised it again, Kara just stood, staring open-mouthed at him. "Well, I expected a better response than this, Madam."   
"You mean it? We can have another child?"   
"We can at least try." Then he got her reaction. She flung her arms about his neck with such force as to propel him almost into the fire. Taking a firm hold of her, he stepped swiftly away from a singeing. "I take it this means you are pleased."   
"Pleased! Bowen, I'm more than pleased, I'm... I'm... delighted."   
"Ecstatic I'd say."   
"You won't regret it; it will be a boy, I swear."   
"Now hold that thought - it may not be. I've sired three children; only one was a boy and he died."   
"Our son won't, Bowen," and she leaned to kiss his mouth.   
Bowen surrendered to his wife, banishing all negative thoughts in his eagerness to pleasure her body as surely as he'd pleased her mind. Sweeping her up in his arms, he   
carried her to their bed to make love amongst furs on a cold February day. The dragonslayer had discovered a daughter; been catapulted into the realm of a grandsire, yet belied the seal of age it put upon him in the ever-youthful dance of loving.   
It spent his energies as it always did but left a glow on his face that permeated into every fibre of his body. If he and Kara had created a new life that afternoon, then he was prepared to give in to the hand of Fate and not look behind him anymore. Clinging to his sleepy wife, Bowen vowed his undying love to her.   
"You made my life whole again and for that I will not relinquish my love."   
"You are a good teacher, Bowen; without you I would have withered away."   
"And you have been my best student." The compliment puffed against her cheek and made her smile.   
"I can handle an axe as well as any man."   
"And my sword better than any other woman!" The innuendo earned him a playful slap but he took it and burrowed deeper into the bedcovers. They drifted into sleep and into another chapter in their lives.   



End file.
